


Letting Go

by defying3reason



Series: College Boys and High School Girls [13]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Reconciliation, Weddings, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras hasn't spoken to his parents in nearly eleven years. As his father prepares to marry his second wife, he reaches out to his son and attempts a reconciliation. Then a tragic turn of events complicates an already complicated situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a personal piece I'm writing to work through some shit from RL. Feedback is always appreciated, but I'm not really looking for concrit on this one. If you're feeling kindly enough to leave me a comment in response to my ramblings, I'd appreciate positivity and kindness more than anything else just now.

“Uncle Angel-ras, Uncle Angel-ras, we got the best cookies in the world from Auntie Ponine’s. You have to try one even though you don’t like fun things!”

Enjolras already wasn’t in the best of moods when his screen door burst open and his honorary nephew, unaccompanied and clutching a plastic to-go container that was spilling crumbs all over his kitchen floor, ran into the room. He really didn’t want to do anything to further his friends’ perception that he didn’t like children. He wasn’t a fan per se, and didn’t want any of his own, but he did love his honorary nieces and nephews. Just, given their temperaments, he preferred to see them in small doses rather than extended periods, and preferably one at a time rather than all at once. However, now that Courfeyrac and Gusty lived in the same building as Enjolras and Grantaire, he saw a lot more of the exuberant five year old than his patience could always handle.

“Try it-try-it- _try iiiiiiit_!” Gusty started waving the container around, and in the interest of not having to scrub sugary crumbs out of every crevice of his kitchen, Enjolras got up from the table and snatched the box out of Gusty’s chubby fist.

“Is it some kind of new confection?” Enjolras asked. He glanced inside the package and tried to imagine what the cookie would have looked like before it was shaken by the hyperactive child.

“It’s, um, it’s yummy flavored and Little R decorated it so that it looked like Spiderman. So it was pretty much the best.”

“Well thank you for sharing that with me. Is Big R around?”

“Yup. Oh, right. I’m not supposed to run off. One sec.” Gusty took off like a shot, banging the screen door behind him. Sighing, Enjolras began cleaning up the mess Gusty had made, which was rather pointless because as soon as the child returned new messes would render any progress meaningless.

After a few minutes Gusty returned perched on Grantaire’s shoulders. Enjolras scowled, but bit back on actually nagging his husband about the piggy back rides. Grantaire had hurt his back a few cons ago. He’d fallen off a chair while hanging up a banner and landed on a folding table full of merch. He was pretty much recovered at this point, but he’d had some bad days and if he pushed himself he wound up in a back brace with Enjolras carefully policing how much pain medicine he was allowed to take. Piggy back rides were probably a bad idea. Then again, Grantaire knew that, and Enjolras was fully aware that if his husband was having a good day then he wanted to play with his godson.

They’d talk about it later, when the cherubic little boy wasn’t actively hanging from Grantaire’s neck.

Maybe they wouldn’t need the talk. Grantaire took one look at Enjolras’ face and then gently set the boy onto the floor. “Hey Gus, can you go find a really cool cartoon for us to watch on Netflix? I need to get my brain juices working hard so I can have lots of good ideas for my comics, and watching neat cartoons I’ve never seen before always helps.”

Gusty raced out of the room, full of self-importance and pride at having been assigned such an important task. Once the five year old was out of the room Grantaire walked up to Enjolras and gave him a quick hug and a peck on his cheek. “Alright, what is it?”

Enjolras feebly motioned towards his computer. “I just got a PM from Felicia. Do you remember me talking about her?”

Grantaire’s face went hard, and it was clear he was thinking of Felicia Thomas, Gusty’s mother and the source of much of the mental anguish in Courfeyrac’s adult life. Enjolras was quick to correct the misconception. “Not, not _that_ Felicia. Yvette’s daughter.”

Grantaire thought for a moment. “Your old housekeeper?”

Enjolras nodded. “I lost touch with Yvette, quite intentionally after I found out that the familial relationship I’d thought I’d had with her wasn’t sincere, but Felicia and I remained friends. Well, more like Facebook acquaintances…sorry, I’m rambling. She just told me that my father proposed to her. They’re going to be married and she wants me to reconcile with Dad and be a part of the ceremony.”

Grantaire looked almost as surprised and discomfited by the news as Enjolras himself had felt. It had been years since they’d heard from either Paul or Marie. Enjolras had gotten a few awkward phone calls about his parents’ divorce, they’d each tried to send him some money as a present when he’d graduated with his bachelors and his masters, which he’d refused, and Paul had reached out when Enjolras and Grantaire had gotten married. Enjolras had considered meeting his father for dinner, but ultimately he’d declined. The wedding had taken a lot out of both of them. Meeting Grantaire’s extended family had been eventful enough without attempting painful reconciliations on top of it. Enjolras had let the opportunity slip through his fingers and that was the last he’d really thought about either of his parents.

He sat down at the table and looked at his open laptop. Felicia’s page was open. She was the same age as him. In fact, her mother had always secretly expected Felicia and Enjolras to get married. He couldn’t quite get his head around his father marrying his childhood playmate. He’d probably have been less surprised if Paul announced he was running away with his middle aged male gardener.

Grantaire walked up behind Enjolras and started rubbing his shoulders and neck. “You okay?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t know what I am. I just…I don’t know. I asked Felicia if she wanted to get coffee so we can talk about this in person. I always liked her, you know. We got along, we just sort of drifted apart when we went off to different colleges. She was never the kind of person who would marry someone for money and security. She must feel some kind of affection for him. I’d just…it would honestly make more sense if she’d felt fatherly affection for him, but _I_ never even felt fatherly affection for my father.”

“That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras turned in his seat so he could get a good look at his husband. Grantaire wilted a bit under the scrutiny, but he didn’t entirely back down. “Sorry, but I’ve kind of sensed some kind of reconciliation coming. Your mom’s a total loss and a nut and I’d be scared for you if you wanted to bring her back into your life, but your dad…he’s a bit more like my family. Where they’re fucked up and they hurt you, but there’s enough good there that it’s still worth having a relationship with them.”

Enjolras felt a sudden rush of that really dangerous irrational anger that had gotten him into trouble with his husband more than once over the years. He tried to mask it from his features as much as he was able, though he must have failed because Grantaire still shrank back from him. Enjolras’ hands were shaking when he stood up and shut his laptop. “Grantaire, clearly you know _nothing_ about how I feel regarding my family. I’m taking a walk. Can you please remove the small child from our home before I get back?”

“I’ve got Gusty until Courf gets back from Prouvaire’s. It’s going to be at least another four hours.”

“I’ll make it a long walk then.”

“Enj…”

Enjolras cut him off by slamming the screen door behind him.

He took a few laps around their neighborhood, and once he’d cooled down a bit he sent Grantaire a few texts explaining that he wasn’t mad at Grantaire, he was just mad at the world and he didn’t want to take any of that out on his husband or Gusty. ‘ _Kay_ ,’ went the return text. ‘ _I’d still like to cuddle you when youre less likely to bite my head off. Come home soon_?’

Enjolras smiled down at his phone screen. ‘ _Soon. Going to call Ferre first_.’

‘ _Um…he the best friend to turn to when youve got drama with the fam_?’

Probably not, but he was also the only one of Enjolras’ good friends who knew his family. Besides, this didn’t have anything to do with Marie. Combeferre was the closest thing Enjolras had to a brother, and at the moment he needed that bond. ‘ _I’ll be careful_.’

‘ _Yeah. At least Ferre’s got Zelma to psychologically support him after he psychologically supports you_.’

‘ _You’re a brat. I’m not talking to you anym_ ore.’

‘: _P_ ’

Still smirking, Enjolras pocketed his phone, then went back to the house to get into his car and drive to Combeferre’s.

* * *

Enjolras didn’t end up mentioning Felicia or his father at all while he was at Combeferre’s. He had dinner with Combeferre and Azelma, and talked with them about their respective jobs and some of the antics of their friends. It was a relaxing diversion that let him put his problems on the back burner for a bit, which was what he needed. As he was preparing to leave, Combeferre touched his arm and gently drew him aside.

“Enj, I noticed that something’s wrong. Is it big?”

Enjolras lowered his gaze and made a noncommittal noise. He certainly felt off center in the wake of the announcement, but he couldn’t really say it was a bad thing. In fact, it might even end well for him. Paul had been disastrously unhappy in his first marriage and it had soured every aspect of the man’s life. Enjolras had never seen his father unburdened from the weight of poor life choices that sapped him of joy. He might have been a better person under better circumstances. If he was truly happy with Felicia, this could be wonderful news.

“Grantaire’s okay, isn’t he?” Combeferre asked, voice soft and expression genuinely concerned. Enjolras quickly assured his friend that his husband was fine, and that his relationship was in no danger.

“It’s family stuff. I don’t want to get into it now.”

“I figured. You seemed like you wanted diversion more than anything else. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. I just didn’t want to worry in the meantime.”

And that was why he always went to Combeferre. The man understood him perfectly without strenuous effort on Enjolras’ part, and it had been that way since they’d been children. “Thank you, ‘Ferre.”

“Of course. I do expect to hear from you again soon though.”

Enjolras promised to follow up with him, then left him to enjoy the company of his charming girlfriend and spotlessly clean (coincidentally child-free) condo.

When he got back to the house Courfeyrac’s car was once more in the driveway and the lights were on in his half of the building. Grantaire was sitting in the living room with a sketchpad and an assortment of art supplies spread out on the coffee table in front of him. He only had one pencil stuck into the messy bun he’d pulled his hair into, so he hadn’t been at his art for very long. Gusty must have only just left.

“Welcome back,” Grantaire said, eyes only flicking up to Enjolras briefly before returning to his sketchpad. Enjolras trailed a hand down Grantaire’s face as he passed by the couch on his way to remove his coat and shoes. The bottom of the coat closet was supposed to contain a shoe rack, but it was impossible to see under the clutter of outdoor toys they couldn’t fit in their shed. And they had two princess tutus and a superhero cape hanging with their coats.

“You know, I think we need to have the cat conversation again.”

That got enough of Grantaire’s attention to make him set the sketchpad on the coffee table. “Why do we need to have the cat conversation again? I’m still allergic.”

Enjolras opened the door to the coat closet as wide as it would go. “We have the detritus of small children all over the house. My home office is covered with art supplies and crafting activities. I had to buy a new day planner because one of them spilled Kool-Aide over my last one, to the point where some of the writing got so illegible that we missed that appointment with the Cartoon Network exec. Grantaire, every day of this week I’ve come home from meetings for _your_ art career to find at least one child in the house, distracting you from your deadlines and keeping me from relaxing. I don’t regret moving home, really I don’t, but this was supposed to be a compromise. If you’re going to be irresponsibly frivolous with your godfatherly duties, then I’d at least like to get to hide upstairs in my room with a cat. And for the last time, I really do need you to keep the kids out of the office.”

“Babe, if it wouldn’t kill me then I’d cover you with cats but as is, that’d kill me. I think the only way we’d be able to even think of managing it would be if we hired a maid to do daily scrub downs on fur and dander.”

“Oh, good. Maybe we could hire my father’s fiancée. She has experience cleaning houses.”

“That was bitter.” Grantaire patted the cushion next to him. “C’mere and cuddle. You’ve got some shit to get out of your system.”

With a sigh of defeat, Enjolras crawled onto the couch and all but dove into Grantaire’s waiting arms. “I don’t want my father to marry my childhood friend. It is weird, isn’t it?”

“Yep. I think you’ve got every right to your discomfort, but I wouldn’t go blabbing it to them until you know more about the situation. Uh…are you even going to be in a situation to blab to them? Paul’s reaching out to you through his new trophy wife. You taking the bait on this?”

“Felicia’s not a trophy wife. She’s an independent minded woman with a good career. I could never see her keeping her opinions to herself while playing the charming hostess for Dad’s acquaintances. Besides that, she’s a little plain to be arm candy. None of this makes sense. Felicia wouldn’t be with him if she didn’t care about him. She’s not like that.”

“Well maybe they got close when your dad went through the divorce. Even though he didn’t love your mom, it still must have been rough on him. Maybe Felicia was his emotional support.”

“’Taire, Mom and Dad got divorced _ages_ ago now. Their divorce was finalized before our marriage.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Then I’ve got nothing.”

“Mm.” Enjolras rested his cheek on Grantaire’s chest and closed his eyes. “They still might have bonded during the divorce. Felicia still worked for my family through her undergrad and grad work. She would have been involved in dividing up their possessions. They might have waited this long if they were ashamed about the age difference.”

“You know, it’s not the age difference itself that I find skeevey,” Grantaire said. “I mean, age differences don’t bother me unless it’s like an actual kid with a creeper. It’s just that if this chick grew up with you then Paul knew her when she was a toddler. That’s fucking weird. He didn’t, like, change her diapers or anything, did he?”

Enjolras surprised himself with a laugh. “Oh god, no. Dad didn’t even change _my_ diapers. They had nannies for that. Come to think of it, he was always avoiding the house for work, or going out with friends. He wouldn’t get home until well after dinner, and Yvette and Felicia were always gone by six. Dad wouldn’t have seen much of Felicia until she started working with her mother when we were in high school.”

“Ah. That’s much less skeevey.”

“Mm.”

“Enj.” Grantaire poked his side. “Do you want to be involved in your dad’s second wedding?”

“If he was marrying some stranger I’m not sure I’d even want to know about it. But…I like Felicia. I made plans to meet her for coffee. I should at least talk to her about it.”

Grantaire stroked back some of Enjolras’ hair. It was incredibly soothing. He was finally starting to relax and relieve some of the tension he’d been feeling. “Whatever you want to do, I’m here for you. If you’re ready to start talking to your dad again, that’s cool, but if you’re not, that’s cool too. I know there’s more drama and history there than what I’m privy to, so don’t think I’m gonna judge you. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras leaned up and they shared a quick kiss.

Really, if Grantaire could repair the damaged relationship he’d had with his father and sister, Enjolras thought he should at least try. Raymond’s sins against his son were at least as bad as Paul’s, if not worse, and yet, Raymond had been at their wedding and he and Jacqui visited for family dinners at least a few times a year. It was killing him to admit it, but Enjolras was starting to realize that he wanted that with Paul too.

* * *

“What in the world are you doing?”

Grantaire cast a quick glance at Courfeyrac, who had just waltzed into his house and plopped down on his sofa as though he lived there and was not in fact the tenant of the attached apartment. Courfeyrac, perfectly unperturbed by Grantaire’s annoyance at the constant violation of his privacy, scooched closer so as to have a better view of his friend’s laptop screen. “What does it look like I’m doing, asshole?”

“It looks like you’re searching hypoallergenic cats. Did you and Enjolras have another fight?”

Grantaire sighed. “No. But he’s on edge because of some family shit, and he was talking about cats again and…well, I’m covered in kids so it’d probably be fair to get him a cat. I know he gets to see Raoul when he visits Combeferre, but it’s not the same.”

“Mm. Kinda like how you get to borrow Gusty whenever you want, but it’s not the same?”

Grantaire whapped him upside the head. “Don’t even. Just because I like playing with all your rugrats doesn’t mean I want to be a dad.”

“It sure looks that way to us.”

“It probably does from the perspective of a bunch of prying busybodies who aren’t privy to me and Enjolras’ private discussions. I don’t want to have my own kids. I’m terrified of fucking them up as badly as my parents screwed me over. Enjolras legit wants his own cat though, and that’s fair. I don’t hate cats or anything. I just like being able to breathe out of my nose.”

“Ah. So everyone wins this way. Well, Gusty likes pets. I’m sure he’d be thrilled if you got a cat.”

“Speaking of your son…”

“He’s sleeping over Marius’ tonight. Thus me making a pest of myself here.” Courfeyrac rested his head on Grantaire’s shoulder and watched him click through a gallery of different hypoallergenic cat breeds. “What are you going to name your fur baby?”

“Dunno. Enjolras can name the damn thing, assuming we actually get one.”

“Do you think he’ll name this one after a stupid celebrity crush too?”

Grantaire shook Courfeyrac off of him so that his friend could be treated to the full strength of his glare. “The fuck are you even talking about?”

“Dude, he named his other cat after that singer he had the hots for. You never noticed?”

Grantaire shook his head. Then he smacked a hand over his face as it clicked into place. “Raoul from Phantom of the Opera. He named the cat after Hadley Fraser, and I’m an idiot for needing that spelled out for me. Fine, then we’ll name this cat after Ramin Karimloo. I always thought that guy was hotter anyway.”

“You guys are both dorks. What are you going to call the cat then? Phantom?”

“Erik would make more sense, wouldn’t it?”

Enjolras interrupted their friendly squabble by opening the front door. Grantaire instantly directed his attention to Enjolras, snapping his laptop shut and fixing his stare on his troubled looking partner. Courfeyrac scooched aside and began tapping his fingers against the arm of the couch, looking between the two members of the couple and feeling out the tension in the room.

For his part, Enjolras appeared to be in a daze. He went to hang his coat up in the closet and place his shoes on the rack, not bothering with his usual disappointed sigh at finding the closet once more full of childish possessions.

“Enj, you okay?” Grantaire tentatively asked. Enjolras gave a distant nod in reply.

Courfeyrac stood up. “Well, I’m sure I have other things I could be doing with my baby free night. But feel free to call me if you guys decide to do anything fun.” He mimed tipping a hat he wasn’t wearing at them before taking his leave. Grantaire got up and followed Enjolras up the stairs to their bedroom.

Enjolras had curled up with a pillow to his chest. Grantaire slid into bed behind him and wrapped his arms around him. “How’d the meet up with Felicia go?”

“Fine. We pretty much figured it out. Dad didn’t really start interacting with Felicia until she was a young woman, and when he was going through the divorce Yvette and Felicia started inviting him over more and they became good friends with him. Felicia never lost touch with him, and a few years ago they quietly started seeing each other. It looks like Dad’s really in love this time.”

“Oh. Good for him.”

“Mm. I’m trying to be happy for them.”

Grantaire sighed. “You’re not going to be involved in the wedding, are you?”

“I don’t think so. It’s…I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s just too much I can’t forgive him for. Besides that, he’s not the one who reached out to me. Felicia did on his behalf. I…I’m not ready.”

“Enjolras, it’s been like eleven years since you talked to your dad. If you’re not ready yet then you’re probably not going to be. Is that really what you want?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? ‘Taire, he was a really shitty dad.”

Grantaire already knew all about that. He’d been living with Enjolras since they were in college; they’d talked through their issues enough for him to have a firm grasp on what a spectacular disappointment Paul had been as a father. He’d abandoned his son to the whims of an abusive alcoholic whenever he’d gotten sick of his wife, and besides that, Paul had had a drinking problem of his own that exacerbated his violent temper. He’d only raised a hand to his son on a few occasions throughout Enjolras’ childhood, but once was more than enough.

“He was, but he’s the only one you’ve got. Think about it, okay?” Grantaire snuggled closer and kissed the back of his neck. “The only way to get the good stuff out of them is to acknowledge and get over the bad. It’s not like our dads can hurt us anymore. We’re grown ass men with our own lives completely under our own control. If he starts to act up, you can always leave. You’ve been doing fine without him anyway.”

Enjolras let out a quiet laugh. “I suppose I am a grown ass man. I don’t know, ‘Taire. I really don’t need him. I think I’m fine without him in my life.”

“You sure?”

“Reasonably sure.”

“Good enough. So what do you think of the name Erik? Could you see yourself calling a Russian Blue Erik, or would it be better for a Sphinx cat?”

Enjolras turned a puzzled look on his husband. “What?”

“I’m feeling out hypoallergenic cat names.”

“Grantaire, we don’t have to get a cat. Just because I’m having a hard time right now…” Enjolras was interrupted by Grantaire reaching out to pick a few pieces of fur off of his shoulder.

“You visited ‘Ferre’s on the way home so you could cuddle Raoul, didn’t you? Looks like you pulled him close for a real hug. Babe, if you want a cat then we can get a cat. Y’know, just as long as we get a special cat that doesn’t make my eyes itchy.”

Enjolras smiled. “Alright…I’ll look at hypoallergenic cat breeds. I don’t think I like the name Erik, though. If you want to name the cat after one of the X-Men, couldn’t we pick a better character than Magneto?”

He looked thoroughly confused when Grantaire burst into giggles.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras ultimately decided to attend Paul’s wedding, but he refused to be a groomsman or be involved in most of the festivities. He had Grantaire go to the mall and buy some trinket from their registry, which Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Gusty wrapped together, and then Enjolras signed the card they’d picked out without reading it.

Gusty seemed oddly excited about the whole thing, especially considering he wasn’t going to the wedding. Once the present was wrapped he ran around Enjolras and Grantaire’s living room in circles singing a song he’d made up on the spot about weddings. The lyrics mostly consisted of ‘Weddings are good, yay!’ but he switched it up every now and then with a line or two about robots and cake.

Grantaire finally scooped up the hyper five year old and tossed him on the couch. He followed the toss up with tickles, then pulled Gusty onto his lap and smooched him. “What are you so excited about, pipsqueak? You’d think you were the one getting married.”

Gusty giggled. “Don’t be silly, Uncle R. I’m too little to get married. But weddings are fun, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes,” Courfeyrac chimed in from behind the couch. He was no doubt weighing the weddings they’d seen in their own group of friends against each other. Some of them had been undoubtedly lovely, but a few of them had had their share of drama attached.

“But, but…weddings are how you get a new mommy. Isn’t Uncle Angel-ras getting a new mommy now, since his daddy is getting a new wife? That’s happy. You should be happy.” Gusty turned an accusative look Enjolras’ way. “I’d be happy if I was getting a mommy.”

“This…is a little different,” Enjolras said. He frowned apologetically at Courfeyrac, who looked mildly heartbroken at his son’s innocent earnestness.

Courfeyrac leaned around the couch and ruffled Gusty’s curls. “Hey, we talked about this before, bud. Just because our family’s small doesn’t make it any less special than anyone else’s. A lot of people get by just fine with one daddy. It just means I have to love you all the harder. I’m doing a good job, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, of course. But if you had a mommy or a second daddy to share the work with you, like how Uncle Marius has Auntie Cosette and Uncle Joly has Uncle Bucket and Auntie Ponine has Uncle Feuilly, you’d be less tired. And then you’d be less grumpy, and you’d let me stay up later and eat more chocolate. So in conclusion, I think you should make Jean my second daddy.”

Grantaire and Enjolras both tried to hide their giggles, Enjolras failing slightly less poorly at the impossible task than Grantaire. Courfeyrac, looking a bit flabbergasted, took a second to reply. “Uh…I’ll think about that. But Gus, even if Jean and I got married, you still wouldn’t be allowed to stay up super late munching on chocolate. You’re five. That’s a sometimes only kind of thing.”

“Like when I sleep over Uncle R’s,” Gusty said with a nod.

The first time Enjolras actually saw his father again was at the rehearsal dinner. He could have skipped it, as he and Grantaire weren’t a part of the official wedding party, but Paul had sent him a handwritten invitation and he’d felt obligated to go.

Besides, it was probably going to be less stressful to see him once before the actual day.

Enjolras dressed like he was going to one of the myriad meetings or publicity events in which he represented Grantaire’s work. He put on a nice suit and tie, shaved and brushed his hair with slightly more care than on a normal day, and put on the tiniest spritz of cologne. Grantaire, on the other hand, was having a much more difficult time getting ready. Being a professional artist, even his formal wear was a tad informal. He was looking between all the pairs of slacks he’d managed to ruin by either ripping them or staining them with ink, and he had a large pile of dress shirts that were just a bit too goth for seeing his husband’s father for the first time since they’d started dating.

“Uh…I guess I could wear the black one? I mean, the blood red one looks good on me, but with the pin stripes it’s probably a bit much.”

“Wear whatever you want. It’s not like there’s any way you could possibly present yourself that would keep him from judging you,” Enjolras said. He walked past Grantaire to get a pair of dress shoes from the closet without even looking at the prospective outfits on the bed.

“I don’t actually have a suit jacket or a tie. Can I borrow one of yours?”

“Help yourself.”

“It’s fucking June. Do you think it’d be okay if I skipped the jacket and rolled the shirt sleeves up to my elbows like I always do, or should I avoid showing off the tattoos like that?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how much more clear I can make this, ‘Taire. I don’t give a flying fuck what my father thinks of us. Just dress comfortably. You could wear fucking sweatpants and I wouldn’t give a shit.”

Grantaire frowned. “Two f-bombs and you’re not even talking about social politics. Babe, are you okay? We can still back out of this thing if you want.”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I’m…I’ll be fine once we’re actually there.” He walked up to Grantaire, framed his face in his hands and leaned in for a kiss. “I hate when you tone yourself down to try to please conservative assholes though. I’ll be much calmer if you go to this thing looking like yourself.”

Grantaire flashed him a small smile. “If you’re sure that’s what you want…”

“I’m positive. I’ll need something familiar to ground me, and it might as well be the man I love.”

As such, when the two of them walked into the posh restaurant Paul had booked for the occasion, Enjolras looked like the respectable only son of the wealthy heir and businessman, and Grantaire looked like an eccentric artist popular with tweens, teens, and twenty somethings. His long hair was pulled back in a spectacularly messy ponytail, he wasn’t wearing a jacket or a tie, and a good chunk of his tattoos were on full display.

Paul and Felicia were standing towards the back of the function room when they walked in, chatting with some of their guests. He had an arm around her, his large hand mindlessly stroking a soft circle over his waist. Enjolras did a double take. His parents had already grown to despise each other by the time he was old enough to start forming coherent memories, and as such he’d never seen his father display that kind of casual intimacy with anyone. It was odd, seeing his father appear content in the company of his chosen romantic partner.

Though it had been eleven years, Paul didn’t look all that different from how Enjolras remembered him. His hair was slightly more grey, though the majority of it was still thick and dark, and the creases around his eyes and mouth were a bit more defined than Enjolras remembered. Otherwise, he was pretty much unchanged.

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “You won the lottery on genetics,” he whispered.

Enjolras elbowed him in the side. “I won shit. I resemble Mother far more than my dad, and her seeming youth is entirely artificial.”

Felicia finally noticed them hovering awkwardly by the door. She tapped Paul’s shoulder and leaned up to whisper something in his ear.

His eyes betrayed how excited he was, but Paul kept his composure as he dismissed himself from the elderly couple he’d been talking to. He and Felicia made their way across the room, the most genuine smile Enjolras could ever remember seeing on his father’s face in place when he approached them.

Despite his misgivings, Enjolras couldn’t help returning it.

“Enjolras, I’m so happy to see you. Thank you for coming. Grantaire, it’s wonderful to see you. I was delighted for you when I’d heard that your publishing career was taking off.”

Grantaire gave a start of surprise. He hadn’t been expecting Paul to even remember his name, let alone know about his comic books. He’d only met the guy once, officially. Twice if you counted that horrible confrontation in the emergency room with Enjolras’ mother after he’d been stabbed.

“Thanks. It’s, uh, it’s pretty cool to get to do what I love for a living. Enjolras is the only reason the thing’s profitable though.”

Paul grinned. “I’d wondered about that. I figured you must have had a hand in the business somewhere.”

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed in dislike at a perceived slight against his husband. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re the motivated overachiever and that I’m a slacker who couldn’t read a contract on his own if his life depended on it?” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Enj, it’s a fair observation.”

Felicia broke a bit of the tension by laughing. “Oh, Enjolras, your husband’s pretty perfect for you, isn’t he? I’m glad you found someone who isn’t too scared of your glares to tease you when you need it.”

Enjolras calmed down a little after that. He mustered a smile, though it was harder than he would have liked it to be. “Likewise. You two seem like a good match for each other.” He turned his attention to his father exclusively. “It’s good to see you happy.”

Paul seemed to know that it cost Enjolras something to say that. He gave Enjolras’ arm a gentle squeeze, then excused himself to greet some of the other guests. Enjolras and Grantaire made their way to the table, free to catch their breath and regain some equanimity now that the first encounter was over.

Throughout the night, Enjolras kept waiting for that heavy feeling of choked anxiety that had been the constant companion of his youth under his father’s roof, but it never manifested. Paul was charming, engaging, and sober for the entirety of the dinner. He only had two glasses of wine during the course of the night, and his guests didn’t get a glimpse of his violent temper. In fact, Enjolras was beginning to wonder if his father had managed to conquer that particular demon.

He talked to his father a few more times throughout the night, though never for very long, and never without Grantaire and Felicia by their respective sides. He shook hands with Paul and accepted a hug and kiss on the cheek from Felicia when they left, and found himself even starting to look forward to the wedding.

That night, he and Grantaire lay curled towards each other on their bed, puzzling over the changes they’d seen in Paul together and wondering how genuine they were. Grantaire was mostly acting as an ear to listen as Enjolras gave voice to his feelings, but he chimed in with his own observations here and there.

“I’d always secretly suspected my father was a much better person than his circumstances and unhappiness allowed him to be. He should have divorced my mother ages ago. Can you imagine how much better my life would have been if they’d split up when I was still in elementary school?”

Grantaire frowned. “I don’t know if you can blame all of your dad’s failings on your mother. Isn’t that a bit unfair?”

“My mother is a monster. I don’t think it’s unfair in the slightest. She could suck the happiness and goodness out of anyone. I’m just trying to determine how much goodness was in my father before she got her claws into him. I obviously didn’t get a chance to know him before Mother ruined him.”

Grantaire leaned up on an elbow, concern thick in his lovely blue eyes. “Careful, Enj. You’re setting yourself up for a disappointment.”

“How so?” Enjolras snapped.

“Look, what we saw tonight was really encouraging. Your dad was being great…but tonight also wasn’t like a normal, everyday thing. Tonight was a special event celebrating something he’s clearly looking forward to. He’s about to marry a pretty, clever girl half his age and he’s on cloud nine over it. That’s the sort of thing that softens a guy up. Maybe give the reconciliation a few weeks before you decide your dad’s improved himself into a decent guy. Otherwise you could be unpleasantly surprised, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Enjolras’ brow crinkled as he thought it over. Grantaire desperately wished that the fingers he lovingly trailed down the side of Enjolras’ face could soothe his unease as effectively as they smoothed his brow, but of course there was little he could do. Well, other than be there to pick up the pieces of his lover’s heart if need be.

The job of arm candy for the wedding was hardly more pleasant. Grantaire managed to procure a suit jacket and tie for the actual day, and so was sweaty and uncomfortable for most of it. Enjolras was distracted and distant for most of the day, so the task of answering the same old mildly offensive questions from Enjolras and Felicia’s relatives fell to Grantaire. He got to tell Enjolras’ aunt that yes, they referred to each other as husband and no, neither of them had worn a dress when they’d gotten married. No, they weren’t planning on adopting any kids, but yes, the little Asian babies “the gays” take in are quite adorable and probably really good at school too.

It was probably for the best that Enjolras wasn’t paying full attention. He wasn’t good at handling that kind of patronizing homophobia-lite.

Enjolras hadn’t been a big dancer at any wedding they’d gone to save their own, and even then, he and Grantaire had only gotten up and danced for a few songs here and there throughout the night. Accordingly, the two of them occupied a table at the reception and barely left it for the duration of the festivities. They chatted with each other, largely about things completely unconnected to where they were or what they were doing.

Once things finally began winding down, Paul went and found them. He looked particularly handsome in his tuxedo, in a distinguished sort of way that was cheerfully augmented by his obvious happiness. Still, he seemed hesitant as he approached his son. Some of Enjolras’ dismal mood was showing in his features.

“Enjolras, would you mind if we had a word in private?”

Enjolras’ eyes immediately darted to Grantaire before returning to his father’s. “Must we?”

Paul seemed to be sizing Grantaire up, and after a moment he let out a small, almost inaudible sigh. “I suppose not. I just wanted to express my hope that you won’t resume the silence you’d held towards me now that the wedding is over. I’d like it if we stayed in touch. Felicia and I were hoping to have the two of you over for dinner sometime after we return from our honeymoon.”

Enjolras started to say something, but he faltered, so Grantaire did his best to graciously accept the invitation. Paul was starting to reply, when Enjolras found his voice. “So are we just not going to talk about why I stopped talking to you in the first place? Are we going to pretend we’re a normal family like we did when I was a kid and not really address anything?”

Paul frowned. “I did ask you to step outside with me. That’s…that’s an apology I’d like to make to you one on one.”

“Like I haven’t told Grantaire everything,” Enjolras said, a slight sneer in his tone. “He knows all about my pathetic excuse of a childhood, and he knows exactly what happened to Combeferre and how you blamed him and then covered it up instead of throwing Mother in jail where she belonged.”

“I’ve since come to regret my actions in that matter. It was much easier to believe that the drunk teenager was complicit in the, the _misconduct_ than it was to accept the fact that my wife was desperate enough for male attention that she would do something like that under my own roof.”

“Misconduct? Dad, my mother raped my best friend and you knew about it and you covered it up. You blamed Combeferre. Like, to his face, you blamed him for what had been done to him.” Enjolras rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do the reconciliation. I can’t look at you without thinking about how many different ways you've hurt me. I don’t think there’s any way you can possibly apologize that would make me feel any better.”

Paul reached out and desperately grabbed Enjolras’ arm. “I was a different man then. I’m trying to be a better one now, and I want you in my life. Enjolras, I miss you so much. I love you. I want you involved in this new chapter of my life. Please, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry for how severely I’ve wronged you.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, looked in his father’s pained grey eyes, and tried to find it in his heart to forgive him.

He tried, but he ended up walking out the door instead.


	3. Chapter 3

“Look, I’m sorry I missed my train. Believe me, as the guy who had to sit at the train station with the late night creepers while I waited for you to get me, no one is sorrier than I am that that train was missed.”

Enjolras briefly diverted his attention from the road to shoot his passenger an exasperated look. “Your son is effectively an overnight guest now. You do realize that, don’t you?” Grantaire had been babysitting Gusty so that Courfeyrac could make some extra money teaching night classes for the semester. Usually, Courfeyrac got home just in time to tuck his son into bed himself. Enjolras wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, as he valued the occasional quiet evening in his home with his husband and the hyperactive five year old was the furthest thing from quiet Enjolras could imagine, but he couldn’t reasonably object as long as Gusty was home and tucked in by eight o’clock. At this rate, thanks to Courfeyrac’s missed train they’d be getting home closer to ten thirty. Getting the kid to go to sleep was still more of a challenge than his parent and caretakers would have liked, so once he fell asleep they tried to keep him that way until morning.

Courfeyrac let out a long suffering sigh. “Enj, I’m sorry. I tried as hard as I could to make that train. Believe me, this night isn’t going how I’d wanted it to either. Was Gusty not behaving for you guys or something?” He actually looked worried, so Enjolras quickly assured his friend that the child had been nothing short of angelic.

“I’d just been hoping for some private time with my husband. Between my father’s wedding and comic con, it’s been some time since we’ve shared a bed. At least, under circumstances in which I felt comfortable doing anything about it.”

Courfeyrac smirked. “I hear you. Gusty’s been getting up in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with me a lot lately. I think Bahorel let him watch something stupid the last time he slept over, so his nightmares are back. It’s been so long since I’ve seen my boyfriend naked that I’m starting to forget what it looks like.”

“Jean’s being understanding though, isn’t he?”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Oh, yeah. He’s as invested as I am in not having to explain anything graphic to my kindergartener. Actually, Jean’s getting really good at playing with Gusty and stuff. He’s almost better at calming the kid down after a nightmare than I…is that car going-”

Courfeyrac was cut off by a car jumping the highway median and slamming into them.

* * *

Mindful of Gusty’s nightmares, Grantaire put the child to bed with the door to the guest room open a crack so that the light from the hallway shone in. He set himself up in his home office directly across the hall, keeping one ear on the slumbering boy and the rest of his attention on his art desk. He was in the zone on his latest project, and almost missed his cell phone vibrating in his pocket because of it.

All the energy and enthusiasm drained from Grantaire when he got that phone call. As soon as the call ended, his first impulse was to call Combeferre.

“'F-Ferre? I need you to…shit. Can you come over? Enjolras and Courf are…are…I need to get to the hospital and I’ve got Gusty and I-should I bring him? I shouldn’t, right? Because he’s five and he shouldn’t fucking see this shit, right? ‘Ferre, what do I do?”

“Hold on. What happened?” Combeferre all but yelped, which brought an awful kind of gravity to the situation, because Combeferre was their rock and he never lost his cool.

Grantaire managed to choke out what little he’d been told from the hospital-that there had been a car accident, a bad one, and that Enjolras and Courfeyrac were seriously hurt. He finished with a weak plea for help.

“I’m on my way.”

He was there with Azelma in less than twenty minutes and immediately took over on any kind of decision making. Grantaire had spent the twenty minutes packing a bag for himself and Enjolras, and then packing and unpacking a bag for Gusty. He ended up leaving it on the couch when Azelma told him that she’d be staying behind with the five year old while Combeferre drove Grantaire to the hospital. The two of them would go, talk to the doctors and nurses and…and the little boy would only be dragged out of the safe, warm bed in the middle of the night if it really looked like he needed to say goodbye to his father.

Combeferre began the drive into Boston, where their loved ones had been airlifted after the crash, and Grantaire began the miserable task of texting out the news to their friends. Not wanting to overwhelm the waiting room, it was quickly decided that the majority of them would head to Bahorel and Musichetta’s to wait for news and support each other. Bahorel and Musichetta lived the closest to Boston, so they’d be nearby. Meanwhile, Marius and Jean left to see Charles at his assisted living home.

Grantaire looked down at his phone as something occurred to him. “’Ferre, should I call Enjolras’ dad?”

Combeferre was quiet for a long few minutes, carefully weighing that question. “How serious did they say the accident was?”

He was essentially asking if Grantaire thought his husband might be dying. Grantaire bit back tears that weren’t going to stop if he gave them even an inch of space. His silence was somehow an answer.

“I think we should call him. My own personal issues aside…Paul loves Enjolras. He should know.”

“Kay.” Grantaire looked down at his phone, took a deep breath, and then called Paul’s wife. He didn’t actually have the guy’s number, but he’d hit it off with Felicia at the reception and swapped numbers. The spouses had begun a conspiracy to get Enjolras to dine at his father’s.

God, but that dinner might not ever happen.

Felicia answered after a few rings, her voice bright and cheerful despite the haze of sleep and a tinge of confusion.

“Hey, Felicia? It’s Grantaire, Enjolras’ husband.”

“I remember you, R. You made an impression. A good one, I mean. Sorry, I’m getting up in four hours and I’m pretty wiped. What’s up?”

“I-I’m on my way to the hospital. Enj is, uh, there was an acc-”

“Oh my God.”

“Just, just you and Paul should meet us. He’s, he’s…fuck.” It took him a few tries to direct her to the appropriate hospital, and the poor, terrified sounding young woman was already calling for her husband when they hung up.

Awful deed accomplished, Grantaire dropped his phone into his lap and faced forward. He and Combeferre finished the ride in silence, neither of them wanting to offer false comfort they didn’t feel or burden the other with their shared dread.

* * *

The time in the waiting room was unbearable. Grantaire was thrust back some eleven years, to when he’d been in much the same straits over the stabbing. Eleven years later he was a much stronger man, and eleven years of progress had most certainly eliminated the prospect of anyone tearing him from his love’s side. However, they’d need to stabilize Enjolras enough for Grantaire to even get to his side in the first place, and the more time passed without word from the staff the bleaker that prospect seemed.

Marius, Jean, and Charles arrived after an hour of tense silence. By then, Grantaire and Combeferre had been brought to what Grantaire was mentally referring to as the Bad News room. It had lots of comfy chairs, it was a little ways separated from the bustle of the ER but close enough to the nurse’s station for updates, and most damningly of all, nearly every surface of the room contained a box of tissues.

Charles clearly had little idea what was going on. Grantaire questioned the wisdom of bringing the demented man out in the middle of the night, but then, something about the familiar face was oddly soothing for him. He pulled up an episode of I Love Lucy on his tablet, and the two of them sat together on the comfy sofa, Charles pleasantly occupied and Grantaire mostly distracted from his miserable conjectures. That is, until he thought back on the adolescence he’d spent in Charles’ living room watching Nick at Night with Courfeyrac and his parents.

He really, really hoped Courfeyrac wasn’t about to be reunited with his mother.

Grantaire’s phone buzzed with a few texts that he tried to ignore, but then the texter gave up and called him. He was about to tell whoever it was to kindly go fuck themselves as there was still no news, but then he saw that it was Felicia, and therefore probably Paul.

He really wanted to pass the phone off to Combeferre, but considering the circumstances that would be cruel, so Grantaire tried to steady his voice and control his breathing before he accepted the call. “Hey.”

“We got turned around on the highway, but we should be there soon. You guys are still in the ER, right?” Felicia asked. Grantaire told her that they were. “Is there…is there any new information?”

“Uh, yeah, they filled us in a little bit when we got here. Another driver lost control of his car and jumped the median, and a couple other cars were hit too. Some guys already died, but Courf and Enj, they, uh, they had to be revived already a c-couple times each and, and Courf’s definitely had organ damage and…shit, I lost most of the details. Just get here as quick as you can.”

He felt like shit doing it, but Grantaire hung up on her. He dropped his face into his hands and desperately tried not to cry.

“Grantaire, can you put another episode of Lucy on? This room’s too quiet and sad without the TV.”

Yes, Charles was a wonderful distraction.

They got through another two episodes of the show before the door to the Bad News room finally opened. A somber looking woman in ridiculously cheerful scrubs walked in. Grantaire had an arm around Charles as they both leaned over the tablet, so the woman ended up talking to Combeferre.

Grantaire waited for her to leave, then he set the tablet in Charles’ lap and got up off of the couch. Combeferre had turned towards the wall and he was hunched over with one arm resting against it. Grantaire knew that wasn’t a good sign, he knew they were in the Bad News room, but still he tried to convince himself that Combeferre had gotten good news and he was too relieved and grateful to speak.

One look at his face cleared that misconception right up.

“They stabilized Enjolras. He’s going to be okay.”

Grantaire took in the tears freely flowing down Combeferre’s face and tried to make sense of what he’d said. “They stabilized…so Enjolras is okay? He’s going to be okay?”

Sweet, blessed relief poured through Grantaire. He felt the tension leave his body and he murmured prayers he didn’t believe in in gratitude. It took a minute for the full weight of what Combeferre had said to sink in.

“Wait, what about Courfeyrac?”

Combeferre turned back towards the wall, shaking his head and finally losing the battle to suppress his sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this plot bunny for about a year now, but I didn't want to write it because the thought of killing Courfeyrac depressed me too much. Then my older brother died in a car accident a few weeks ago and I found that I really needed to write this story. I'm having a tough time with my grief, and am once again turning to fictional characters for comfort and to aid in my reflections as I work through this.
> 
> Again, feedback is always appreciated, but I'm not looking for concrit on this one. Frankly, I am in nowhere near the right kind of mindset to seriously consider my writing on this particular subject.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the condolences last chapter, guys. I appreciate the kind thoughts. The rest of this fic is going to be shamelessly pulled from the last couple of weeks of me and my family's grief. The wake and the funeral were definitely the two hardest days of my life so far. Courfeyrac is quite a different character from my brother though, so there's enough fiction involved for this to feel therapeutic and not entirely confessional.

Paul got to the hospital and was shown to the quiet little family room just as the news of Courfeyrac's death was starting to sink in. As such, the first thing he saw was a roomful of people experiencing grief, and he jumped to the most obvious conclusion; that their grief was shared.

"Oh god."

Enjolras' father was tall, broadly built, and with an intimidating air to match his son's. He was one of the most unintentionally terrifying human beings Grantaire had ever encountered. Fear didn't suit him. When he saw the outpouring of grief and loss, his hard features crumpled into an agonizing expression as the color drained from his artificially tanned skin. His knees gave out, and he ended up leaning against the wall, shaking his head and insisting that he couldn't be too late.

Grantaire took pity on the man, and he rushed forward to clear things up. "Enjolras is okay. He's hurt, but they stabilized him and he's going to be okay. It's our friend Courfeyrac...he didn't make it."

Paul took a few deep breaths, still leaning heavily against the wall as he tried to process that. "My son...my son isn't dead?"

Grantaire shook his head. He'd never felt so painfully confused in his life. On the one hand, he felt the same relief Paul obviously did in not having to bury Enjolras. But Courfeyrac...it just didn't seem possible that Courfeyrac could really be gone.

"It's my boy. Mine's the one that's dead."

Everyone slowly turned to look at Charles, who had generally been forgotten in the wake of the awful announcement. He'd set the tablet on a small side table next to a box of tissues and shakily risen to his feet. "God took my boy even though he has a little boy, and my boy is grown and doesn't need me anymore, but my grandson needs his father. I'm just a sick old man. Why won't God take me? He should have taken me instead of my Bridget, and now he's gone and taken our boy as well."

It looked like he was having one of those unaccountable moments of lucidity. Grantaire recalled days where he and Courfeyrac had brought Gusty to visit his grandfather at the assisted living home, only to find Charles incapable of recognizing his grandson. He always recognized Courfeyrac, though sometimes he mistook his son for his older brother Jack instead. Courfeyrac had quietly informed Grantaire that his uncle Jack had died of cancer when they’d been in elementary school, and that whereas Courfeyrac _did_ actually look a lot like his uncle, it was still a worrying sign of how confused his father had gotten that he confused them for each other.

It was unusual for Charles to remember he had a grandson. His memory generally didn’t extend to events that relatively recent, mired instead in the man’s youth and early adulthood. But of course he had to be lucid now.

Grantaire had nothing to say, so he gently guided Charles into sitting back down and kept an arm braced around him while he cried. Combeferre was still standing in his corner, Marius looked in real danger of fainting, and then Jean suddenly fled the room. He almost walked into Felicia as he burst out into the hallway.

Felicia looked at their anguished faces, then turned a questioning gaze to Paul, who looked oddly euphoric in his relief. “I just parked the car. What happened? Is Enjolras okay?”

“He’s okay. His friend died, but Enjolras is okay,” Paul whispered. He gave himself a small shake, seeming to finally realize that his relative fortune was coexisting with Charles’ loss. He turned towards the miserable old man on the sofa and offered condolences that might have been heard in the vaguest of ways.

A different young woman in scrubs walked into the room and asked them if they’d like to see Courfeyrac’s body. Charles immediately tried to get to his unsteady feet, and Grantaire and Marius both had to rush forward to catch him before he fell on the floor. Grantaire firmly braced an arm around the man. “Charles, you don’t have to go in there.”

“I’m going to see my boy,” Charles insisted.

Grantaire nodded. “Okay. I’m coming with you then. C’mon, just hold onto me. Here we go.” Combeferre trailed silently behind them, ready to catch Charles if he lost his balance again, and Marius quietly trudged along just behind them.

The nurse showed them to a room just down the hall. It was brimming with equipment, but of course the only thing any of them could focus on was the stretcher in the center of the room. Courfeyrac’s body was strapped in place, looking oddly small and diminished in the harsh fluorescent lighting. He was no longer connected to any of the machines, but the tube that had been jammed down his throat was still in place.

His personality was so large that Grantaire often forgot how short the man actually was. Of their male friends, only Joly and the Thenardier boys were shorter. Courfeyrac’s energy always filled a room though. Tears began once more to prick at Grantaire’s eyes as he realized he’d never get to experience that particular rush of energy again.

Grantaire’s eyes went from the awful tube to Courfeyrac’s too-still features, which were contorted in pain. It was fairly obvious to all present that he hadn’t died peacefully. The staff must have cleaned the room before they’d invited his loved ones to see him though, because all things considered there really wasn’t a lot of blood. Just a few stains on the floor by the stretcher.

Charles completely broke down at the sight of his son. An employee went and got a chair for him, and Grantaire and Combeferre eased him into it and pressed tissues into his hand. Marius was staring unflinchingly at Courfeyrac, brows knit together, seemingly transfixed by the tragic sight.

Combeferre was the first to approach the stretcher. He pressed Courfeyrac’s unmoving hand and murmured something that was to stay between him and his dead friend, then with a heavy heart stepped back and took up position by Charles.

Grantaire tried to will his feet to go to Courfeyrac’s side. He’d regret this later, because there was no way he was going to be in any kind of shape to say his goodbyes and find closure at the wake, but he couldn’t move. It couldn’t be real. Courfeyrac had too much left to do. He had a fucking son. He just couldn’t be dead.

Feeling overwhelmed, Grantaire stepped out of the room and into the hallway. He felt utterly lost. Courfeyrac had been a constant presence in his life since he’d been fourteen years old. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to continue on without his best friend at his side.

He walked back towards the Bad News room, hoping that he’d be allowed to see Enjolras soon. If he’d lost his best friend, he could at least take comfort in the presence of his husband. Grantaire was almost to the door when he caught sight of Jean.

The poor guy was curled up in a corner between the Bad News room and the door to the nurse’s station. He was in a fetal position with his head down, and he was brokenly sobbing. Grantaire crouched down in front of him and hesitantly patted Jean’s back. “They’re letting us see him, if you…I’ll go in with you if you want.”

“It’s so fucking unfair!” Jean yelled into his shaking knees. “If I hadn’t been such an utter idiot, we’d have had so much more time together. We could have had years instead of months. And now he’s gone and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“H-he loved you. Maybe you guys didn’t get a lot of time, but it was good time. He always loved you, Jean.”

Jean somehow managed to cry harder, and Grantaire found himself with an armful of distressed poet. He stroked back Jean’s silver-red hair and repeated his assurances that whatever issues they’d had over the years, Prouvaire had been well-loved by his first and most serious partner.

* * *

Combeferre and Marius stayed with Charles, the three of them going back and forth between the Bad News room and the sad little room Courfeyrac's body was in. Charles kept asking for Grantaire, and when he got frustrated he insisted on speaking to his son or his brother. Ultimately, they decided to have Combeferre make the arrangements and have Marius and Jean take Charles home.

Grantaire, meanwhile, had been shown to Enjolras' room along with Paul and Felicia.

Initially Enjolras looked much the same as Courfeyrac had, and Grantaire had a moment of panic. But though Enjolras was hooked up to an awful lot of equipment, he didn't have a tube down his throat, and when Grantaire touched his still hand his skin was warm and soft to the touch. He sat in a chair by Enjolras' bed, holding his hand and taking comfort in the labored rise and fall of his chest.

Paul's expression and entire demeanor were oddly constricted as he watched his son. He paced around the room for a minute or two, his young wife anxiously watching him, and then he went to stand behind Grantaire. "They said he's not in a coma, didn't they?"

"It's not a coma, but they don't expect him to be alert any time tonight," Grantaire said. "If you guys want to go home and get some rest, I can call you as soon as he wakes up. I'm not going to leave his side until someone makes me."

"I'm going to stay as well. I don't mean to intrude on you. You've more right to his bedside than I do, by far, but if you're not averse then I'd like to be here."

Grantaire gave a tiny shrug. "That's fine."

Paul turned to Felicia and clasped her hands. "You should get going though, darling. You look exhausted and I'm sure you won't find rest here."

Felicia looked like she was going to protest, but it was fairly obvious she was wavering where she stood. The initial surge of adrenaline from the bad news had long since fled, and her exhaustion was catching up with her. "Are you sure you don't need me?"

"I'll be fine. I'll call you if I need you." Paul pressed a kiss to their joined hands and then walked her to the door. He took the chair in the corner, facing the end of Enjolras' bed, and settled in to wait.

* * *

Enjolras was awake and not quite alert only briefly over the next few days. He weakly pressed Grantaire's hand back, eyes cracked open the barest bit and regarding his husband through a drug induced haze the few times consciousness returned to him. Grantaire kept all his attention focused on his convalescing husband, such was his desire to avoid contemplation of anything else going on at the moment.

By the third day he had to start facing things, at least a little. They'd scheduled Courfeyrac's wake. And besides that, Charles and Gusty had been asking for him.

Enjolras wasn't well enough to even think of attending the wake or the funeral. His coherent waking moments were getting longer and closer together though; his doctor was optimistic. It looked like he'd make a full recovery after a lengthy hospital stay and lots of physical therapy.

Paul hadn't been as constant a presence as Grantaire, but he was definitely the second most frequent visitor. He brought Enjolras radical-liberal books on CD to play while he was convalescing, as well as fresh flowers, soothing music, and anything else he could think of that might be helpful. He and Grantaire had had lots of time to talk while Enjolras slept or was getting seen by the medical professionals, and they were starting to strike up a friendship. Paul was even referring to Grantaire as his son-in-law.

The night before the wake, Grantaire quietly asked Paul to leave the room for a few minutes so he could have some time alone with Enjolras. Worried for Enjolras' recovery, they still hadn't broken the news to him about Courfeyrac. Grantaire wasn't looking forward to telling him, but the man needed to know, and he might as well have an explanation for Grantaire's upcoming absences from his bedside.

Enjolras was understandably haggard looking, and still fairly out of it when Grantaire pulled his chair closer to the bed. He took the thin, fragile hand in his and slowly rubbed his thumb over Enjolras' palm. "Babe, there's something we didn't tell you about the night of the accident." Grantaire trailed off, and only continued when Enjolras wordlessly prodded him along with a tiny nod. "Courf didn't make it. He died. H-he's dead."

Enjolras' eyes fell closed, an almost inaudible pained noise passing from his lips. "I...I'd feared as...much. No one said though."

"Yeah, it's, uh...we figured you had enough to deal with right now. Fuck, Enj, it's been so fucking hard. I don't know what I'd have done if it'd been both of you."

Enjolras made a feeble attempt to squeeze Grantaire's hand. "Is Gusty...?"

"He's been staying with Marius and Cosette. He doesn't really get what's going on. I think he thinks Courf's on a vacation or something. I don't know what's going to happen. His mom's obviously not in the picture, and Charles can't really take care of the little guy. I don't think Courfeyrac has...had any family that would step up." Grantaire cut himself off. He wasn't ready to go down that road yet.

"I...last thing. I was berating him over...over Gusty. Last thing I said was about babysitting too much." Enjolras' eyes had filled with tears. Grantaire gingerly wiped them away even as his own tears started.

"Babe, don't think about that. Courf wasn't petty. He wouldn't dwell on stupid shit like that, and you shouldn't either. Look, um, the wake is tomorrow. I don't want to leave you, but I've got to be there. Your dad's on leave from work and he promised to spend the entire day with you. I know he's probably not your first choice, but he's been really good so far. I certainly feel better about leaving if he's going to be here."

The tears escaped the barrier of Enjolras' soft golden lashes to track gently down his wasted cheeks. "I wish I could go. Say goodbye for me."

"I will, Enj. I promise." Grantaire leaned forward to place a kiss on his husband's forehead, then he got up to call Paul back into the room.

 


End file.
